


First Gentleman

by orphan_account



Series: Married to Francis. [2]
Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: M/M, Married Life, Oral Sex, Oval Office, Power Dynamics, manners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doug walks in on Edward blowing the President.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on writing little scenes of Francis and Edward's married life. They will be in no particular order. I'll try and make everything clear in each story.

It’s noon and the former Secret Service Agent pushes a cart laden with covered dishes. Francis looked up from the pile of papers at his desk and smiled.

“Edward! And don’t you look like a peach. I could just eat you up.”

Edward leans down to kiss Francis’s lips. “I hope so,” he whispers into his husband’s ear.

The President’s smile widens into a grin. “And here I was thinking you were just here to have lunch with me.” He glances around. “Where’s Frankie?”

“She and Nancy are having a tea party.”

“Tea? At her age?”

“Just apple juice in sippy cups. And Cheerios,” laughs Edward, grateful to have time alone with Francis, a rarity these days except for the hours a night they share in bed. Half that time, Frankie’s curled between them, asleep herself. “I asked Nancy to give us, oh, thirty minutes of privacy.”

“Thirty minutes?” Francis nuzzles Edward’s neck while running his hand down towards his crotch. “I guess that will be enough.”

“I’m starving,” admits Edward frankly, staring without reservation at his husband’s crotch.

Francis pulls out his dick. “What’s mine is yours, Peaches.”

Edward might be starving but he takes his own sweet time getting to the main event. He rubs his face against the soft insides of Francis’s thighs, combing pubic hair into neat swirls with his tongue. He nips at Francis’s sack, gently sucking on the balls within which earns him a set of accidental scratches on the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Francis grunts, not the least bit; he knows he’ll make it up to Edward.

There’s no knock on the door before Doug Stamper marches into the Oval Office, bursting with emergencies.  The bald Chief of Staff rattles off a dozen details of the burgeoning crisis in Cameroon before realizing the details of the lusty tableau before him. “Jesus, Frank!” he yelps, backing towards the door.

The President’s dick slides from Edward’s mouth.

Francis scowls. “Douglas Stamper, since you’ve already interrupted my lunch with my husband, you might as well stay and report.” Francis glances down, ruffling Edward’s hair. “And you, don’t you dare stop.”

“No, Sir,” chuckles Edward, lifting it, licking the bead of fluid forming at the slit as Francis gives his dick a few rough tugs.

“Ed, you said ‘Sir’,” groans Doug. He’s been trying to break Edward of the habit of calling Francis, ‘Sir’. “If the American people will find out that you call your husband ‘Sir’, they’ll either think it’s adorable or creepy,” he reminds them.

Edward stops sucking. “It’s okay if it’s a sex thing,” he replies defensively.

“Ed…”

Francis huffs. “Keep doing what you were doing, Edward. I’m almost there.”  

He turns to his Chief of Staff.  “You heard him. It’s okay if it’s a sex thing. In fact, privately, it gets me harder than a woodpecker’s beak when Edward calls me ‘Sir’. Why, the other day he put on one of his old suits, his holster and badge and those sunglasses... frisked me, handcuffed me and bent me over the back of the couch and _then_ …”

It's only because Francis has been friends with Doug for so long that he doesn't throw a cushion at the man who's covering his ears, chanting, 'La-la-la'.  Scratch that.  Francis throw a pillow, hard before spreading his legs wider, pushing his husband’s head down further.

“But…” whines Doug, trying to look away but finding he can’t.

“But nothing.  And do I need to remind you to address Edward with respect,” Francis continues sternly. “For God’s sakes, man, he’s the fucking First Gentleman. Show some manners!”

Doug gulps, blushing. “Sorry, First Gentleman Underwood,” he apologizes.

Edward’s too busy to reply.

“Oh, like that, sugar,” moans Francis, turning again to his faithful aid. “Okay, Doug, give me the details. I’m listening.”

Doug stumbles over news briefs and statistics, red-faced and stunned, his head following every bob of Edward’s head, every red, shining flash of the Presidential prick. He finishes just as President does, Francis quietly grunting as he thrusts through his climax. Neatly, Edward catches every drop before tucking Francis back into his pants.

“Get Cathy Durant to brief Vice President Sharp and the head of the Armed Services Committee. Bring in General Burgess on board as well as Admiral Haines. Have them prepare a statement for me to review in, oh, say an hour,” he rattles off effortlessly, brilliantly.

“An hour, Mr. President?” asks the astonished Doug, who will never again underestimate the President’s ability to multi-task.

“I need to have something to eat,” Francis drawls, gently running his knuckles along the bulge in his husband’s pants. “And then Edward and I will have our lunch,” he continues, laughing against Edward’s lips as they kiss.


End file.
